Father and Son
by hallowgirlfrommars
Summary: In the episode "My Coffee With Niles" Frasier made some comment about waking up to find Martin stroking his hair, and Martin covering it up with some remark about him needing a haircut. But I wondered what the scene would be like from Martin's perspective. Just Martin's thoughts on how his life has changed since living with Frasier, and his thoughts on their relationship.


**OK, does anyone remember the bit in "My Coffee With Niles", where Frasier mentions he woke up to find Martin stroking his hair? And that Martin covered it up with some remark about Frasier needing a haircut? Well, I was messing around last night, and I decided to write the scene from Martin's perspective. Just a quick little drabble!**

**Reviews would be much appreciated!**

With a quick glance at his son, Martin sighs, reaching out automatically for the remote. Turn the volume down. Get a coaster. Tidy up the mess. Martin used to be the one giving orders; now he's the one taking them.

Still, he figures it's better to turn the volume down before Frasier starts yapping on at him about it. Hell of a lot easier than starting a fight with him.

His finger finds the volume button and the sound on the television gradually decreases, until the room is silent, the only input from the TV a flickering light that illuminates the furniture, casting an eerie glow over Frasier's face. Martin stares at his son, watching the way he leans back against the couch, his eyes closed.

Frasier's asleep, not even awake to see his father respecting his wishes for once. Martin guesses it would figure that way. The one time he does what Frasier wants, he isn't awake for it.

Sighing, Martin leans back in his chair. There's nothing to do but think after all. Daphne's gone to bed hours ago, and Sleeping Beauty on the couch won't be yammering for a while-which might be more of a blessing than a curse.

Martin shifts slightly in his chair, and winces as a dull ache in his hip reminds him of just why he's living with Frasier in the first place. He sighs, tipping back his head, wondering how his life has changed so much in a year.

A year. One year ago, Martin was living in his own place. One year ago, Martin was getting about by himself. One year ago, Martin had spoken to his son precisely twice since his return to Seattle.

Now-

Well, things are different, to say the least. But-and Martin is surprised to realise this-not too bad.

Sure, they're weird. Having a physical therapist-that was weird, at first. Having to do exercises each day-annoying, and not helped by Daphne's habit of relating family anecdotes to him, in a failed attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Having to follow someone else's rules-that's weird.

Having to live with his son-_that's_ weird.

But-things are better, too. Better than they used to be, anyway, and Martin frowns as he considers this, that living with Frasier, annoying as it is at times, has some benefits too.

Daphne, for one. Martin liked her pretty much straight away-she's pretty smart, took to Eddie, and-one of his favourite things-surprised his son. And now that she's been living with them for nearly a year, she's only grown on him. She talks a lot, and OK, Martin might not be the biggest fan of her stories, but he has to admit, it's kind of nice having her rabbit on in the background, while she's finishing some task. And OK, he complains, but she's a good therapist. His hip, despite the ache in it now, has never felt better-well, except before he got shot, obviously.

And, Martin has to admit, it is kind of good to have someone else in the house again. It's good having two people to sit down and eat with. Good having someone to talk to during the day. Even good just being able to see Frasier again, after all that time he spent in Boston. Martin didn't see him for two years. Hell of a long time to go without seeing your own son.

Or brother, in Niles' case. That's another thing to think about. Martin sees more of Niles, these days, too-when he's not taking care of that wife of his, and Martin closes his eyes at the thought of her. But it's good to see his sons again.

Even if he spends a fair amount of time disagreeing with one of them.

Martin casts another gaze at the son in question, rolling his eyes, as he watches him sleep. What is it with him and Frasier? OK, they never got along that well. OK, he always knew Frasier was closer to Hester. And that was OK with him.

But it wasn't like they fought constantly. Not when he was a kid. They could be in the same room together. They could have a laugh about stuff. Frasier would even occasionally talk to him about girls, when he was in the awkward high school stage, and Martin would tell him what he knew.

It was as the years passed, that things got difficult. Especially after Hester died.

Hester had always been a good buffer; had known how to handle disagreements between him and Frasier, known how to cheer him up when the boys came home with baking trophies instead of baseball, calligraphy certificates instead of soccer. And he guessed all that didn't matter, really. The boys had his heart, according to Hester, and he liked to think of that, to think that he'd given them something, something good.

It was nice to think that they had something in common.

Martin casts another glance at his son, who appears lost in his dreams. It was weird, being here at first-and he and Frasier hadn't seemed to go one day without fighting. Hell, who's he kidding? They still don't.

But-they get on better now. They can talk. They can laugh. And sometimes, it's just nice being with him-him and Niles. Both his sons in the same room-with Niles' eyes generally being fixed on Daphne. Martin chuckles at the thought. Niles and his little crushes. Though this has lasted longer than any of the others. Then again, he supposes while Niles is still stuck in his "marriage" there's going to be nothing to worry about where Daphne's concerned, anyway.

Martin casts another glance at Frasier, feeling suddenly more affectionate towards him. They are closer now, he'd guess. They talk a lot more than they used to. And Frasier tells him stuff now, too.

It still sends a shock through him, to think about what Frasier told him all those months ago, during one of his egghead "bonding" rituals. To confide something personal about yourself to the other guy, something they didn't know. Martin had been sitting there, waiting, not knowing what to expect, and then Frasier had come out with the fact that at one point, during his trouble with Lilith, he'd actually stood on a ledge, several floors up from the street, and thought about jumping.

Martin's heart had twisted in his chest, then-because, it doesn't matter how you get on, when your kid says something like that, it puts the fear of God into you. He couldn't remember what he'd said in reply, some bull about something flying into his eye or something, which, understandably, hadn't impressed Frasier too much. But what the hell was he supposed to say?

Looking across at his son now, Martin feels a wave of sympathy. He knows what it's like to be cheated on. It happened to him, though in his case, it didn't mean the end of his marriage. Though he can't say he regrets Frasier and Lilith divorcing-every time she came to dinner, she matched the temperature of the refrigerator.

He feels bad for Frasier, though.

And he guesses Frasier had tried to help him. He'd let him move in with him, after all. Martin feels a surprised curling of shame in his stomach. It can't really have been that easy for Frasier, either. At his age, to get divorced, be separated from your kid, and have your father living with you-it must be tough.

Martin bites his lip-an unusual gesture for him. He does appreciate what Frasier does. But it's difficult to say that kind of stuff. And weird, when the two of them spend half their time yelling at each other.

Martin sighs, switching off the television with a click of the remote. He pulls himself up from the chair, reaching for his cane out of habit, Eddie shaking himself out of sleep.

Martin makes his way across the room, stopping by the couch. He'd better wake Frasier too-it's kind of late, and he's got that show of his tomorrow. Martin listens to bits, sometimes, when he gets the chance, and he has to admit, his son's pretty good. Pretty smart. And he gives good advice. Sometimes, when Frasier says something-something smart or sharp or even just something kind of helpful-Martin smiles to himself, a surge of pride welling at how his sons have turned out, both of them.

He is proud of them, even if he doesn't show it that much.

Martin stops by the couch, his hand reaching out to shake Frasier's shoulder. He stops, watching his son sleep. It reminds him of when Frasier was a kid and Martin would sometimes check on him before bed, sometimes standing still for a few moments just to watch his son sleeping, smile as he wondered what he was dreaming about. Martin smiles now, watching Frasier shift slightly, murmur something. When Frasier was little, and got restless, Martin would sometimes reach out and stroke the top of his head for a moment, letting his hand rest there for a while, and Frasier would quieten down again.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, Martin's hand reaches out and pats the top of Frasier's head. He strokes his hair self-consciously, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks, even though there's no-one around to see. He guesses this sort of thing just doesn't come naturally to him.

But he is proud of Frasier. And grateful, even though he is a pain in the ass half the time.

Still, he does love his son. Even if he doesn't always show it, he loves him.

Martin watches Frasier quietly, still stroking his hair. Frasier shifts slightly, blissfully oblivious.

Until his eyes open.

Frasier's eyelids flicker and he turns slightly. His gaze lands on his father, and after a confused bout of blinking, seems to feel the hand on his head. "Dad?" His eyebrows furrow slightly, but his mouth twitches upwards in a small smile.

Martin drops his hand to his side, as though Frasier's head is red hot. Now what? He can hardly tell him he just decided to pat his head. But Frasier is looking at him, clearly waiting for an explanation.

Martin opens his mouth, saying the first thing that comes into his mind. "Don't you reckon it's time you got a haircut? You're starting to look like Bozo." He watches his son, hoping the distraction will work, hoping he won't see the look on Martin's face. It would just be awkward, stupid. Guys don't talk about things like that.

Frasier rolls his eyes. "Very amusing, Dad." His tone is its' usual self, and Martin breathes out, satisfied things are back to normal.

"Anyway, are you going to bed? It's nearly midnight." Martin turns away, already limping in the direction of his bedroom, Eddie dancing around his ankles.

"I suppose so." Frasier stretches, yawns, as he gets to his feet. "I'll just put this in the kitchen first." He picks up an empty glass, lying on the coffee table, his eyes narrowing in a familiar frown-the look reserved for any kind of mess in his apartment.

Martin turns away, breathing a silent sigh of relief, as he heads down the hallway. He drags his cane along with him, thinking of the warm bed that awaits him.

He is grateful to Frasier. He is.

"Dad?"

Martin turns at the sound of his son's voice. "Yeah?"

Frasier swallows, and Martin waits, surprised by the way his son's gaze drops to the floor, almost as though embarrassed by what he's about to say. "I-" He raises his gaze to his father's again. "Night, Dad."

Martin stares at him, feeling a strange warmth in his chest-a warmth which had seemed conspicuously absent ever since Hester died, ever since Niles stopped dropping by for months, ever since Frasier's phone calls from Boston started to dwindle. A warmth which in the past year or so-has seemed to come back.

He swallows, wondering what the hell to say next, and feeling stupid just thinking about it.

"I-" He hesitates, wondering how to get the words out of his mouth. "I-"

Frasier stands, hopeful, waiting.

Martin swallows. "Night, Fras." He turns away before he can see the look of disappointment cloud his son's face, before he can force himself into saying the words he really means.

Martin heads off down the hall, his cane marking the steps in front of him. But for a moment, he turns back, glances over his shoulder, to see Frasier watching him. Father and son stare at each other for a moment, and then each gives the other the smallest smile, the smallest hint of companionship.

Martin continues down the hall to bed. Maybe they'll get better, him and Fras. Maybe they'll get better.

They just need to keep working at it.

**Hope you all enjoyed that!**


End file.
